


Eyes of Heaven

by patchworkweddingdress



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Eddie as the Walrider Host, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchworkweddingdress/pseuds/patchworkweddingdress
Summary: With the death of William Hope, the Project Walrider requires a new host. Waylon sees him, from behind the screen, his eyes bright and focused, his gaze sharp and piercing, like a striking punishment from heaven.Eddie Gluskin is the new host, and he wasn't lying about the advancement of his Morphogenic Engine therapy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> one night, while slaving over my internship, i wondered how different outlast would be if eddie was the host  
> also i couldn't stop thinking about his dialogue in the vocational block when waylon was running away from him after falling down the elevator

September 16, 2013

 

 

"Waylon Park, report to Morphogenic Engine main console," the announcement blared through the speakers for the second time.

Waylon sighed and put down his mug beside his laptop, abandoning his small workstation. The guards literring the halls of the underground lab ushered him to hurry, a hint of worry and nervousness in their faces.

As he bypassed one of the glass doors, he flashed his badge to the guard stationed outside the Morphogenic Engine. The guard nodded as he typed away the confirmation of his presence, alerting the doctors and scientists inside. He stood behind the heavy set gate separating the control room from the white, cold hallway, lightly tapping his foot.

He never liked it when there are emergency announcements. It usually ends up with him working long hours to satisfy the anal requirements of the many doctors filling the area, time passing by so quickly without him noticing. The mutterings of interview and laboratory results, the whirr of machinery and the clicking of keyboards, the cries and screams of unwilling patients. That's usually the unbearable part of this: seeing the inhumane treatment of patients promised with healing only to extend the torture from the inside of their minds until it exists in the outside, physical world.

The miniscule USB flash drive on his pocket felt heavy.

Once the gate opened, he walked towards the main panel, the screen already filled with various errors. He quietly skimmed through them, then turned to one of the scientists reading something from a clipboard.

"Excuse me, what happened to the, uh..." He couldn't say test subject. Waylon knew, he wasn't stupid. William Hope, the so-called host of Project Walrider. He'd seen him since he started two weeks ago, propped up inside a glass sphere, but the error logs were saying that the host isn't present.

The scientist glanced at him, lowering the clipboard. "We're changing the host today. Hope, he... he expired an hour ago. There's a new one coming in now."

Waylon let out a quiet 'oh', immediately turning back to the console to hide his mortification. The way this guy talks about Hope's death is so... clinical. Like it didn't matter. His ears immediately honed to the conversations happening around him.

"As for now, he's the least resistant due to last night's operation..."

"Still, we don't know if he'll be stable enough to handle it..."

"But he's the one with the greatest progess from the therapy, only behind Hope. Maybe we could make use of his current state..."

"Mold him to be like Hope? His results weren't exactly impressive, you know..."

"He's the next in line candidate for it, anyway. At least he won't be struggling like he did last month..."

"Hey, alert the inside team, they're bringing Gluskin in."

_A new host._

The double doors on the side of the Morphogenic Engine opened, and a team of guards wheeled in a gurney with a strapped patient. Waylon watched as the doctors removed the bindings and slowly lifted a large man up to a sitting position, removing his clothes until he's down to his white underwear. Two scientists opened up a nearby glass sphere, pulling out various tubes and wires sitting on the bottom of the container. They attached them to the patient, one after the other, until Waylon could see the resemblance of the setup they had on William Hope.

While they were fitting him inside the glass sphere, the doctors inside the control room started to bustle around in observation. Waylon remembered his role for the time being, and waited patiently for the signal to return to the panel.

The camera flickered for a second, before the dazed face of the patient appeared on the monitor.

Case Number: 196  
Patient: EDDIE GLUSKIN

Waylon felt his insides squirm, his fingers trembling as he typed out the command.

_> Start Walrider.exe_

The patient - Eddie Gluskin - seemed unaware of his current predicament, barely responding to the sudden rush of hormones and chemicals being pumped inside his body. His eyes blinked blearily, before focusing on the camera.

Waylon froze.

Something inside his head started to itch like an inflammation just under his skin, unreachable by touch. A buzzing on the base of his skull, black spots on his peripheral vision. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, blinking rapidly.

_Y̫͈̰̠͓ơ͎̱̟u͙̺͉̩'̢̯̻̼̤̮̞ͅr̲̠̣͓͕̣͠e͕̠̣͓̯͎̮̕ ̗̱̣̣̰̰n̶͉͕̳̠̱ot̙̤͍͈̦͙͙ ̱̘͙l̜̦͖̻i̪̤͍̥̖k̟͎͙͇̱͡e̙̮̬̣̘͇ ̯̪̙̬t̬͜h̦e̢̪̱m̖̩͉̬̕.̬̖̼̟ͅ_  
_͙͖̰̞̫̜̱_  
_̫̪Y͉̤͙͙̞o̢̘̹u͓̼̪̳ͅ'͠r͔̪̯e̻͉̦̲̪̯̺ ̲͉̤̺̣̳͞n̶̘̗̭o͖͖̙̦t̥̭ ̫͖̳ͅo͏̬̗n̴̘̼̺̼̮e҉̙͔̺͇͓̝̙ ̨̤̯o̦̺̬̪̹f̭̥̤̦ ̼͓̘̼͍̼ͅt̛̟̻ͅh͇̗͈͉̦͎͝e͏͕̺̲ ̴d͕̗͈o̙͙͇̬͍̳c̮͇̳͓̜͈̮t̳͘o̟̜̩̩͎̕ͅr̠̭̠s̥,̡̮͚̣̥̤̳ ͡a̺̜͝r͈̤̪̗e̺̬̲͖̹̦n̢̦͔̰͉̭̼'̪̖͕͖̝̭̞ṱ̡̼̤̖͔̹͓ ̮̮y̱͉̞͕͈͈͙͟o̵̞̼̮͎ṵ̹̱.͢_  
_͓_  
_̕Yo̙̰̯̺̩͙u.̭̜.̡̥̹̣͚.̸̲̜͔ ͚̤̦̬̱y̤̗̙̰o̟͙̮̜u͇̦͙͍ ̖̠̦͓̟̲̤c̟̪͔͙̝͢o̦̩̤͉̫ụ̷̳ld̡ ͎̗̬̲h̨el҉̮͔̟p̼̝͚ ̵͖͉ͅm̪̪e̻͉̲̲̟͇͘.̛̘͎̤̠̦̬_

_...what?_

Gluskin was still staring directly at the camera. As if he knows Waylon is there. As if he's staring directly to Waylon's soul.

_I ̖̦̟̼̰̖̕k̪̭͙̭n̤̩̟͜o҉̩͇ẉ̙͜ ͚ͅy̧͉̙̱̣̟̼̭o͈̞̺̥̼ṵ̟̰̫̖͓͠ ̖͓͚c̵͔̠a̖͎͉ͅn̝̜̘̦͙̤͠ ͎s̵̟̦̲̻̞̲͚t͓̳̲͕o̜̥͕̭̭̜̬p̱̭̘̯ ̭̱͓̥t̥̪̗̤͙̦͠h̸̪͍̟̫̫̥̠i̞̘̜s̻͍̤͖͟.̪̣͎ ͈͎̤̹̗Y̵o̝̝̞u̗͈͔̺͇ ̘̻͕͝ͅḫ̤a̖̜͡v̢̟͎͓̱͈̳̥e̘̮͎͖͟ ͉̜̮to̡̤̞̦̙̺̩̯ h̯͎͇̠̠e̡̗͕̬̟͖l͈̩p̭̻ ̶͙͔͍̼̺m̜͢e̦̖̮̫̻.̞͈̹̜͎̺̻͞_

_...what the-?_

A hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Thank you, Mr. Park," One of the scientists clad in blue suits pulled his chair away from the console, partially blocking the monitor with his body. He looked at Waylon like he's an unwanted visitor and not a hired contractor working on the same project. "You can leave now."


	2. Chapter 2

**September 17, 2013**

7:00 AM

 

Sometimes, Waylon felt like he's living in groundhog day.

"Waylon Park, employee one four six six, report to Morphogenic Engine Monitoring immediately."

The same strong coffee. The same white mug. The same dreadful pit in his stomach since he started working on Murkoff.

He sighed and left his laptop on the counter, sticking a Post-It bearing his name. The break room was empty anyway, and it's not like there's anything incriminating on his computer. All of his important files were stored on the flash drive he left on his room.

Yesterday's events flashed back on his mind, and he gritted his teeth.

_Add to my to-do: get Eddie Gluskin's patient file._

He quickly passed by the loitering scientists outside the Morphogenic Engine, discussing their private lives. It reminded him of how empty his life is: no girlfriend, no close friends, no relatives in the same city, no parents left. Then again, it doesn't bother him; if anything, his planned leaking of Murkoff's illegal activites is perfect given that there's no one going to be affected by the backslash except for him. And Waylon is _very_ good at planning.

The guard nodded at him as he passed by inspection, and waited for the heavy metal doors to open. The smell of antiseptic was strong in this area, likely to prevent the test subjects from contracting other diseases other than the ones they want implanted on them.

Same old, same old.

When the doors opened, he was met with something different.

All of the doctors and scientists were piled in front of two huge monitors that wasn't there yesterday. One of them shows a distorted camera feed of Eddie Gluskin's pod, and the other looked like something straight out of a biology lecture videos he used to watch back in college. A feed that shows rapid cell division from god knows where, inside Gluskin's body, but when he looked back to the first monitor, there's no sign of tumor growing anywhere.

Before he could get reprimanded for watching without permission, he made a beeline towards the terminal, focusing on the various errors popping up repeatedly. He frowned, clicking X on one of them, but the cursor lagged and stopped moving despite him moving the mouse. Waylon clicked his tongue and pushed the swivel chair back, crouching down to check if there had been any disconnection on the hardware.

"Ah, it looks like... that? Remember?"

His ears perked at the out of place wonder on one of the scientist's voices, followed by hums of agreement.

_What on earth is going on?_

"Almost the same speed of Billy Hope's, but this one looks promising. If we doubled the dose of the current combination, we could probably achieve lateral ascension within a week."

"That's kind of a baseless prediction, we never had someone this responisve to the new treatment. Besides, Wernicke warned us about changing the dose."

"Pfft, yeah, as if that matters."

Their murmurs tapered off, and Waylon had to look busy again to avoid suspicion.

_Lateral ascension...?_

After checking the connections on the CPU, he decided to just restart the terminal, knowing it won't affect the Morphogenic Engine much. While waiting for the boot up, he leaned back on his chair.

_Never heard of that term before. Did that happened to Hope before?_

The screen lit up with the custom OS splash screen, before fading into the desktop environment. He immediately restarted the backup programs to support the current operation, one of them being the camera feed to Gluskin's pod. This one wasn't distorted like the one on the large monitors, and it's angled to show Gluskin's scarred and blistering face.

The moment he stared at Gluskin's eyes, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and time seem to froze as those bright blue eyes stare back at him.

_H̴e̹̣̞̦l̼̜̜p ̣̫m̥̮ḛ̯̫̜͟ͅͅ.͉̯̦͉̘̲.͍͖̮.̻_

A sudden burning sensation flooded his head, and static buzzed in his ears, like a radio out of signal range. Red and black lights flashed on the corner of his eyes, before he blacked out.

_Oh fuck._

He opened his eyes as wide as he can, but he couldn't see anything.

_What... what the fuck..._

A loud sob echoed around him, and he turned around to see a silhouette made of red, blue, and green lines, wriggling on the floor. For every sound it emitted, the silhouette distorts itself. Against the black backdrop, it looked like a moving scribble.

Another silhoutte appeared, this one made up of harsh neon orange and red colors. It came with a loud, thundering voice, shouting curses and insults, what appears to be a limb hitting the distorted silhoutte on the floor.

The strange lights show was overlayed with a thousand voices of what Waylon recognized as the doctors at Murkoff, speaking all at once. The neon silhouette faded out of existence, before returning back with a lizard head, its body still outline with harsh lights.

The distorted silhouette faded, and returned with a doll head with missing eyes. Its voice became higher in pitch as it cries, recoiling away from the lizard head.

One of the doctor's voice became clearer, and it clicked for Waylon.

"Let's see... log has the first two as guided dreams. Classified as: childhood, sexual, with reptile imagery."

_What the fuck._

Waylon blinked, and everything disappeared.

He's back at the Morphogenic Engine chamber, and Eddie Gluskin is still staring at him.

_He͞l͢p͟...̷ ̧me..̴.̧_

_Are you... talking to me?_

_Wh̵o e̡l̡se͢?͟_

_Oh god, oh fuck, I'm going crazy._

_Ple̕ase͞ he͠lp̡ me._

Waylon shook his head, closing his trembling hands. _What do you want me to do?_

_He͟l҉p ҉mę..͏. out o͢f̴ ̸h͜e̴r͘e..҉.͟ ̧I ça͝n̵'t, ̨t͟oo muc̢h͟, ̧the Wa̕lrider͡ ͝i͏s ̴h̴e̶re.̛..̕_

_Walrider?_

_T̵oo mu̴ch͠, ̷too ̛muc̨h..̴. th̶e͝ d̶rea҉ms̶ ̶h̛ur̴t.͘.̸. p̨l͞e̛a͏s͢e ͟hel̸p̶ me̕..̴_

_I want to help you! Please, tell me what to do!_

_It hu͏rt̨s... pl̛ea͞s̨e s҉t̨op͞ the ͝e͟n̕g͢i͡ne_

The camera feed went out, and before Waylon could respond, his head was assaulted with the same burning sensation, as if his brain wants to explode. He staggered out of the chair, clutching his head.

"Hey! Stop that, this is a high security-"

_It hurts, oh god it hurts-_

He felt hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly, and he opened his left eye with great effort. All of the doctors were looking at him, the screens behind them one by one going out, and before the panic could sit in, Waylon's body dropped to the floor.

_The Walrider is here...?_

 

* * *

 

 

??:?? ??

 

The house was straight out of high end magazines, polished and beautiful. Two stories, blue roofing, trimmed bushes, white picket fence.

Waylon looked around the area, the road lined with tall trees and various plants. There were no houses nearby that he could see, and the driveway seemed endless.

Whoever lived here was isolated.

With no other places to go, Waylon entered the house. The door was silent as he pushed it open, and he was greeted with the brightly lit living room. Large plush couches and a glass coffee table covered with a green cloth, topped with a flower vase. Bookshelves lined the far end of the wall, and a desk and chair was pushed beside it.

What caught his attention were the pictures hanged on the wall.

The first one consisted of three people: a woman with shoulder-length hair, smiling widely while holding a baby whose face was erased with red ink. A man stands beside her, but his face was carved out of the picture.

The second one was the same faceless man holding what Waylon guessed was the same baby whose face was scribbled out with black ink, his head also cut out. Their outfits were both formal looking, faded and tinted with sepia.

While looking at the other ones, he stepped on something on the floor. He looked down and saw a broken picture frame, its glass shattered. The people's heads on the picture were blacked out, and the words "See You In Hell" written on the corner in beautiful cursive.

Waylon lifted the glass and pulled out the picture, flipping on the other side. On the back was a message, written in black and red ink.

 _February 14_  
_Elena and Edward,_

_To a happier marriage!_

_I hope Edward Gluskin Jr. grows up to be ███████_

_█████_

  
_I don't want to be like him._  
_He's a fucking monster._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://patchworkweddingdress.tumblr.com/


End file.
